


The Tale of A Youth Who Went Forth, Etc

by secace



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, but mostly its nonsense, in that its nonsense, set during the events of morien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: “And is it true,” Morien asked quickly, like he might just slip this one in, “that you don’t feel any fear?”He blinked. Before he could respond, the fire erupted with a series of crackles, flaring high and sending sparks up to become stars above them. Gawain smirked, having just divested himself of several dried branches.Morien jumped slightly at this sudden arrival, then made a concerted attempt to disguise this.“That one is true,” Gawain said, of the open question.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Tale of A Youth Who Went Forth, Etc

**Author's Note:**

> this is a lancelot story based on a fairy tale based on a lancelot story. no credit to aandrew lang or the brothers grimm all credit to lancelot

“Is it true that you’ve never lost a tournament?”

The fire popped speculatively. “I tied with Tristan once.”

“Hm,” Morien paused his questioning for a moment to deliberate. “That counts as winning. Is it true that you can breathe water like a fish?”

“No,” Lancelot said, wondering when Gawain would get back from checking on the horses, to relieve him of conversational obligations. “But I can hold my breath for a long while.”

Morien had the grace not to look too disappointed “Oh. Well that’s-- useful too, probably. Are you the son of Merlin?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“Does your blood really have magical healing powers?”

“Yes-- kind of.” Lancelot paused and rethought the sensibility of telling this to an impressionable tween. “Only once. No.”

“And is it true,” Morien asked quickly, like he might just slip this one in, “that you don’t feel any fear?”

He blinked. Before he could respond, the fire erupted with a series of crackles, flaring high and sending sparks up to become stars above them. Gawain smirked, having just divested himself of several dried branches. 

Morien jumped slightly at this sudden arrival, then made a concerted attempt to disguise this.

“That one is true,” Gawain said, of the open question.

“Is it?” Lancelot muttered, as if to ask what Gawain meant by this line of conversation. But Gawain merely sat beside him, basking in Morien’s delight.

* * *

_ " _ _ I have heard it said in court and in the country,” A younger Gawain had told him, “that you are a man without fear.” _

_ “Oh.” Was all he could say, of something that felt so meteorically incorrect he could face it with nothing but horror. “I-- no.” _

_ “Oh?” _

_ “I fear many things,” he admitted finally, and a warm afternoon breeze danced through the curtains. Gawain's chambers had wide windows, which were always open in good weather. Then, because he always answered with too-honest consideration: “Court. People staring at me, very strong wine. Hurting-- hurting someone I love. What you think of me.” _

_ “Death?” asked Gawain, who already knew all these things, really. _

_ He thought about it. “No. Why would I be afraid of, of harm coming to me? It’s like breathing.” _

_ Gawain might have laughed. At anyone else, he may have. “I am sorry. You wouldn’t want to learn?” _

_ “I’ve never tried.” He considered. “You think I should?” _

_ “I would hope,” Gawain said, like it was not a matter of importance, because it was, to him, “That you might value your life and fear the loss of it-- as I do.” _

_ The king laughed when he tried to explain. In fairness to the king, he wasn’t always very good at explaining things. So despite his protestations, the whole court heard Arthur tell how his best knight was so brave, he needed to quest in search of fear. “He is learning to shudder!” The King exclaimed to a courtier that night, and his wife and nephew would make knowing eye contact over his royal shoulders. This was the image fixed in Lancelot’s mind when he left. _

* * *

“I tried to find it once,” he said.

Morien leaned forward, wide eyed. “What happened?”

Lancelot did not like telling stories to the court. But this wasn’t the court, really, so it was alright if he did not tell it very well, not so cruel a thing if his words were twisted around in the hearing of them. He gathered them together for a moment, and Gawain reached over him to snatch one of the daggers from his belt. He made no motion to defend against this, and Morien watched this exchange with intent confusion, as Gawain checked the sharpness against his thumb and found it unsatisfactory. 

“I rode out along the road, and met a man there, who said he would teach me what fear was. He told me: "Look, there is the tree where seven men got married to the rope maker's daughter, and are now learning how to fly. Sit down beneath it, and wait until night comes, and then you will learn how to shudder." 

Lancelot paused as Morien deciphered this riddle. After a moment, he clapped, hitting upon it. “Oh, I see-- but that's not really a tree at all.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Gawain added helpfully. “Which is just a pretentious lie.”

“So are you,” Lancelot noted kindly. “I sat under the gallows for a while, and built up a fire. Then at nightfall, I looked up as instructed, and saw the men, who were very cold. I pitied them, to be-- in that state, and so I cut them down, and placed them around the fire, as if to warm them up. This-- worked too well, and their clothes began to catch. I told them if they didn’t take care, I’d hang them up again. Well, they kept catching on fire, so I put them back up like I said I would, and I went on, having learned nothing.”

Morien made a face like he was trying not to make a face. “Huh. Wh-- what happened next?”

“I came to an inn,” Lancelot said, warming to storytelling. “And told the woman there what I was looking for. She told me there was a castle, where many had paid for curiosity with their lives, where terror would be found. The Lady of that land had a handsome reward for whoever could stay three nights there, but no one had done so. I asked directions to this haunted place, and set off.”

“You weren’t frightened at all,” Morien asked in rekindled amazement, “to sleep in a haunted place?”

“I mean lot’s of knights have slept in haunted places,” Gawain broke in. They both turned to look at him and he shrugged. “Theoretically.”

“Right,” Lancelot agreed, and went on awkwardly. “I went there and told the Lady, and she left me in the great hall of that keep alone. I built up a fire in the grate as the sun set, and sat by it waiting. Around midnight, I heard voices in the darkness, saying--” he paused like he was considering whether to do a voice or not. After a moment, he continued in his normal tone to general disappointment. “Saying that they were cold. I invited them to come by the fire, and two black beasts slunk from the shadows. Their eyes were brighter than the coals, and they danced back and forth around me. “Shall we play a little game of dice?” one asked.”

“What did you do?” Morien asked urgently.

Gawain said nothing, and for a beat there was no sound but the flames crackling, and birds in the night, and Lancelot’s dagger being sharpened. 

“Oh, well-- I said I would play cards with them, except I should check their hands to see they wouldn’t cheat, so I snatched them both by their necks, and saw their sharp claws, and knew they were devils, and not beasts at all. I killed them, and as soon as I had done that a swarm of dark creatures came from every dark corner, all with fiery chains and ember eyes, howling and barking and shrieking.”

“So, really it was you who cheated,” Gawain pointed out mildly. Morien only shivered.

Shrugging this accusation off, Lancelot continued. “I ignored their screaming for a while, but then they tried to put out my fire, so I took up my sword again, and killed many of them. The rest fled. I threw the bodies in the moat and stoked up the fire. I was growing very tired, then, and I saw a bed in the corner of the room. It hadn’t been there a moment before, which was odd, but--”

“You never learn,” Gawain grinned. 

“This is a totally different situation,” Lancelot argued weakly. “I mean, no one told me not to sleep in this bed. Specifically.”

Gawain nodded. “Right, and it ended up being a completely normal bed and no consequence came of sleeping in it.”

“You actually tried to sleep in the obviously haunted bed?” Morien questioned.

“I-- look--” he floundered. “Do you-- do want to hear what happened?”

“Yes!”

“Yes sir,” said Gawain, who had already heard it before. “Sorry sir.”

Lancelot nodded. “Right. Thank you. Well, I got in the bed and it immediately came to life and started trying to kill me--” he paused and waited, but neither of them said anything, though perhaps with some effort. “Uh, trying to smother me and crush me against the walls and such. Eventually it flipped over and I crawled out, and left it there with its, ah, wooden legs sort of wriggling like one of those bugs you have to flip back over off of their backs.” 

“Good imagery,” Gawain said. 

“Thank you,” he said, then, almost impossibly quick, snatched back his knife with one hand, the other grabbing Gawain's ankle and yanking up, so he collapsed backwards, laughing, to sprawl on the ground.

“Like that,” Lancelot said simply. 

“I see,” said Morien, who was too polite to laugh, even if Gawain himself was.

“So, I went back to sitting beside the fire, and pretty soon the sun rose. The Lady was surprised to see me alive, and asked who I was. I told her I did not know. I stayed in her keep that day as her guest, and returned to the castle the next night. Again, nothing happened till midnight, when, sitting by the fire, I heard noise and commotion above me which grew louder and nearer. There was an awful scream, and the top half of a man fell down the chimney and into the fire. He seemed quite unaffected, by either the fire or his lack of legs, and set to crawling towards me with an expression of ill intent.’

“Excuse me,” I said, “But there’s only half of you.” He looked a bit offended, and stopped crawling. Then the noise started up again, and his legs fell down the chimney too, and the two pieces joined back together as I watched. Well, Body parts just kept falling down the chimney for a while, assembling themselves as I watched-- the first had taken my place by the fire, and I did not want to rudely roust him. Eventually, there were three walking dead men, with nine spare limbs and two skulls. “We’re going to play a game with these,” they told me, and arranged the nine limbs upright across the room, intending to use the skulls as balls.’

The fire crackled again, and grew dimmer. Morien moved a bit closer.

“I asked them if I could play their game with them, and, sort of confused, they said I could, but I would have to wager something. I agreed to wager my sword if I lost-- it was the only thing of value I had on me. The first man handed me a human head, and I thought, this won’t do. This isn’t circular and it won’t roll well. So I took a knife from my belt and carved the uh, face part off so it would be more regular. They seemed a bit discomfited by this, but we played, and I lost quite badly. They took my sword, and around four in the morning they scampered back up the chimney. I went to sleep by the fire.”

“You told the court Secace was broken in battle,” Gawain pointed out, from where he hadn’t moved on the ground.

“Well-- it was a battle of skill.” He moved on quickly, “The Lady came back that morning, even more amazed that I had survived again. The third night I settled in by the fire. At midnight, six ghostly sectors rattling chains came into the room, pallbearers for a great black coffin. They set this on the ground before me.’

“Ah, I told them, This must be my father who died long ago. They looked at me oddly with their gaunt faces, and left again. I opened the lid and saw the face of a man I’d never seen before, wearing fine armour marked with the cross in red. His face was very cold and pale, and I took him from the box and set him before the fire-- not to close, though, for I remembered my mistake with the seven men before. But he did not warm, so I carried him to the bed-- it had righted itself, and was acting on quite good behaviour-- I placed the man there under a blanket and lay beside him waiting.”

“That doesn’t--” Morien stopped, remembering courtesy in the face of nonsense. “Nevermind. Please continue.”

“Thank you. Soon, the man warmed up and began to move, slowly at first, then suddenly reaching for my throat, trying to strangle me. Poor thanks for warming you up, I thought. But if that was how he was going to behave, he’d better go back in his box. I picked him up and replaced him in the coffin, shutting the lid tight. He screamed a long while, but finally quieted, and the ghouls returned to carry him off again.’

“The third night was almost through, and I had learned nothing. I sat unhappily by the fire a while, thinking to sleep, when a man entered the room. He was very large in stature, and beast-like, but his face was that of an old man. You are about to die, he told me. I don’t think so, I said. Don’t boast now, for I think I am stronger than you are. We should put it to a test.’

“He agreed, and led me deep into the keep, into a room where there was something like a forge. He took up an axe, and--”

“This sounds familiar,” Gawain muttered esoterically.

“It’s different. He took the axe and in one blow, drove an anvil into the ground. I can do better, I told him, look closely. He bent to study the anvil, and I raised my arms to strike, turned the axe around and hit him hard on the back with the blunt side. He fell to the floor, and I kept at that for-- for quite a long time. He moaned and groaned and begged me to stop, so I did, and he told me he would show me great riches. I put down the axe and let him lead me deeper into the keep, to a cellar. There sat three chests of gold. One, I was told, for the poor, the second for the Lady, the third for myself.’

“Dawn was coming soon, and he vanished. I returned to the front room and met the Lady at the door. She then revealed herself to be a sorceress, as most ladies do, and said she knew me from her acquaintance with Lady Morgan. She was very friendly all of a sudden, and proposed that--” he stopped suddenly. “It doesn’t matter what. I said no thank you, and besides I had to continue on, because I was looking for something I still hadn’t found. She laughed at my expense then, and said I would never find such a thing in haunted castles or gallows, but at home, in what things I loved there. This is very well, but I must have some conclusion to the whole affair, or the King will make a fuss about it.’

“Well, said she, if you need only to shudder, stand right there and close your eyes. So I did, and after a few minutes, she returned, and dumped a bucket of river water on my head. I shivered from the sudden cold and the minnows squirming around in my hair, and she gleefully pronounced the quest a success.” 

“Another great victory for Sir Lancelot Du Lac!” Gawain cheered sardonically.

Morien frowned. “I think I must be missing something. You never really found it? Fear?”

Letting the fire grow low, Lancelot smiled absently. “It wasn’t really what I was looking for, I suppose.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the fire sink low, growing tired. Finally, Morien piped up again. “If the dead man was young, how could he be your father?” He was very concerned with the subject of fathers.

“He wasn’t, I think-- A passing fancy of mine. My father was quite old when he died, I am told, and this man was no more than twenty. Very likely it was the image of no one, shown to me in the mistaken belief that a corpse might discomfort me.”

If Morien was slightly disappointed, it didn’t matter, for they all forgot the matter soon enough.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
